


the night starts here

by blackwayfarers



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bottom Liam, Comeplay, Double Penetration, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-21 08:38:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackwayfarers/pseuds/blackwayfarers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The high of another couple of glasses of cheap champagne glow in Liam's cheeks as he slowly loses himself in the music, up next to Louis and giving it his best, jumping up and down with one hand in the air. He keeps finding Zayn in the in-between moments, giving him these wide open grins like he just really, desperately wants to share this feeling with someone else. All at once Zayn wants to feel it too, wants to bite that feeling from Liam's lips, taste the blood of his grin and share it with Louis, remembering tonight as the bruise of fingers around wrists and mouths on skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the night starts here

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to A and S for their betas and handholding and occasional face punching. Title comes from Stars' song of the same name.

Louis has never been the kind of boy to turn down a party, especially if he hasn't been invited. There's a particular noise and light to celebration (scattered colour, thumping bass, the smell of spilled wine) that speaks to Louis on a fundamental level, like some kind of whale song or the neon-green pinging of deep sea sonar. 

As Louis and Zayn and Liam walk back to their hotel down a busy Montreal street, stuffed after a late-night post-show dinner at McDonalds, Louis suddenly stops dead, a grin spreading quickly across his lips. At the next intersection is a discotheque, filled to the brim with some kind of wedding reception or after party, something loud and bright that calls to Louis in the morse code of a dirty, bump-and-grind soundtrack. Without even taking a second to discuss it, Louis grabs Zayn's hand, and then Liam's, and he grins in that way they've both been trained to know is an invitation to disaster. Zayn has long learned to recognize the signs, a certain acid scent in the air that is all Louis, like green apple candy or burnt caramel, the promise of Louis' plans like sugar that get stuck in your teeth. 

"Who's Vince Vaughn?" Louis asks, looking at Zayn, then back to Liam. "Who's Owen Wilson?"

"We're not crashing a wedding," Liam says, in that way that he knows they definitely are going to crash a wedding, but knowing he ought to say something that he can use for his defense the next hungover day. _I said we shouldn't_ , Liam's desperate attempt to cling to even a little bit of that good boy he used to be.

"Oh, come on," Louis says, standing on tip-toe to look over the bouncer's shoulder, into the rowdy party happening inside. "How often do we get the chance?"

Zayn exchanges a shrug with Liam, the two of them momentarily bonding over their inability to say no to Louis. "I mean, they probably all speak French, they'll know we don't belong."

"Drinking age is eighteen here," Louis says. "Come on, this will be like, our only chance in North America."

"Louis, we have, like no trouble at all getting liquor," Liam says, but Zayn can already see the sandpaper of Louis' offer starting to wear at him. "What does it matter?"

"Think of it, Liam, you have the chance to drink in _public_ ," Louis says. "Come on." 

Zayn looks at Liam once again, the two of them trading shrugs, knowing they never really had a chance. With a sigh they follow Louis to the club; it's the only thing they know how to do anymore.

"Bonjour," Louis tries, a winning smile. He tips the peak of his Montreal Alouettes snapback higher, almost like he's trying to charm the bouncer by supporting the local team even though he only found that hat a couple hours ago when they were backstage at the venue. "Can we, uh, _entrer_?"

The bouncer gives him a once over, a burly dude with tattoos – koi fish, bird skeletons, human hearts – that would intimidate anyone but Louis. " _Avez-vous une faire-part_?"

"Uh," Louis says. Zayn almost touches his shoulder, tries to get him to pull out of this mission before his plane gets shot down, but a part of him (that same part that traded shadowed words and plans with Louis in the dark a few nights ago, that part of Zayn that needs Louis' help with this stupid idea that's been bother him for months) wants him to succeed. Louis dips into his hip pocket and produces his wallet and from it two brown Canadian hundred dollar bills. "Oui?" he tries, sunshine of a smile.

The bouncer takes the money and puts it away at an amazing speed, the bills vanishing into his big hands without hesitation. With a grunt, he steps away from the open door and lets the three of them in.

"And they say there's a language barrier," Louis says, grabbing Zayn's hand, raising it above their heads and leads him in. With a laugh, Zayn grabs Liam with his other hand and does the same, the three of them entering the club in a duckline, a sturdy chain.

Louis drags their train into the middle of the dance floor, laughing and shouting _bonjour_ in his loose tank top (one of Liam's) and jeans with the cuffs rolled up like Huck Finn as they walk through a crowd still in their formal wear. It's definitely a wedding, the bride in a cropped but unmistakeable wedding dress, and it's the kind of wedding Zayn knows Louis would love: she's wearing a red rag in her hair and is in the middle of the dance floor, grinding between a few of her bridesmaids, Pussycat Dolls loud on the speakers.

"Yeah, man, _yeah_ ," Louis says as they blend into the dancers, drops of water thrown into an ocean of arms and legs. The music begs them to loosen up buttons, and Louis takes no time at all in attracting the attention of a few of the bridesmaids and a couple of the best men, getting into the heart of the crowd. Louis' dancing is sloppy, boyish and unpracticed like all their dancing is, but it just makes the people around him laugh, accepting him faster. With a waggle of his eyebrows, Louis beckons them over.

"Oh my God," Liam says, his breath warm pressed against Zayn's ear. "Is he – is he _really?_ "

Louis gets a good look at Zayn then, his eyes narrowed, his smirk full of ice cold sarcasm like he's disappointed in Zayn. Zayn knows exactly what Louis is trying to do, what he's trying to _start_. They've had this conversation a few times, usually in the dark of a hotel room or over too Jack and cokes by a pool at twilight, but it was never more than the wet acrylic paint of an idea that he never thought would dry. Actually seeing Louis trying to live out their plan in full makes Zayn's insides harden like liquid silver, his body tightening up as Liam keeps a hand on the small of Zayn's back, his laughter a hot breath on Zayn's neck. "I think he really is," Zayn says, bunching his fist in the cloth of Liam's t-shirt to keep him closer.

"You – d'you wanna?" Liam asks. He's all full of that hidden excitement, like he can't properly let himself go unless someone gives him permission first. 

"Do _you_?" Zayn asks in return.

Liam tugs at Zayn, turns him so they're looking at each other properly under the flashing disco ball, lights scattered over them like a meteor shower. "Could be fun," Liam says, his bottom lip already red from being chewed, sweat prickling at his temples.

They both turn to look back at Louis, and he grins back at both of them, his eyes dark and his hair sweat-slick like he gets after a football match. And then he licks the edge of his teeth, wet pink tongue darting quick over the sharp edge of his canines, and his body is swaying in time with the music. It's so stupid, it's so over the top it's funny, and it makes Zayn flush through his body like his skin is prickling with static, and shit, despite it all Louis is still hot as fuck.

The laugh Liam gives is bright and sharp, and Zayn can feel it on his skin. "Oh, whatever, come on," Liam says, free to do what he wants, given permission by Louis' wildness.

The overriding desire to seem chill overrides Zayn's embarrassment and he takes the invitation even though inside he's half-laughing, half-wincing at how stupid they must all seem. The three boys end up wedged in the middle of the wedding party, so out of place in their late night trash clothes, and Zayn can almost sense how awkward Liam feels, broadcasting it like radiation, a solar heat of blush in his cheeks. Zayn knows how shy Liam is when he's meeting new girls, so he keeps close to him, a hand hovering over his hip like a heavy iron chain keeping them linked in humiliation. 

Free champagne goes around them on trays, and Louis grabs three, handing them out like ice lollies on a hot day. They disappear in an instant, the plastic champagne flutes crunching under the soles of their trainers. Louis keeps catching Zayn's glance over the shoulders of the crowd, his wolfish grin like an invitation, getting them close, closer, keeping them burning the night down together. The tide of people moves, sways around them as one song transforms into another, the heavy beat of Azealia Banks hammering down like thunder. Louis gets up close to Zayn and he says something into his ear Zayn can only half-hear, the sharp angles of words like _come on_ and _chance_ and _look at him_ and _want_. 

Zayn shakes his head no, but the words stick there like thorns. He can't but look at Liam, the stupid white boy dance he's doing, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles at Zayn and shares in the ridiculous, doing a stupid shimmy to bump his hip against Zayn's own.

The high of another couple of glasses of cheap champagne glow in Liam's cheeks as he slowly loses himself in the music, up next to Louis and giving it his best, jumping up and down with one hand in the air. He keeps finding Zayn in the in-between moments, giving him these wide open grins like he just really, desperately wants to share this feeling with someone else. All at once Zayn wants to feel it too, wants to bite that feeling from Liam's lips, taste the blood of his grin and share it with Louis, remembering tonight as the bruise of fingers around wrists and mouths on skin. Zayn can feel Louis' hand on his back like a red-hot bruise, pressing him close to Liam them until they're all jumping in time with the music, their stomping feet like a heavy teenage heartbeat, a mosh at a wedding. And right away Zayn can feel it, in Louis' savage joy, in Liam's boyish grin, the magnesium brightness of a flare going off inside him as the three of them crush their chests together, knees against knees, elbows in sides, mouths against throats, the shower of their young dumb sparks raining from the ceiling. Hand on Liam's hip, Louis' squeeze at the back of Zayn's neck. Floating.

Louis reaches for another glass of champagne, their sixth, seventh, maybe, but he's stopped suddenly by a hand grabbing his wrist. The music keeps going, the beat of it harsh and heavy but all of a sudden Liam and Zayn aren't bouncing and Louis is having his hand wrenched away by a goateed French Canadian in a waistcoat, a man about half a foot taller than all of them, new gold jewelry glinting on his left ring finger. 

"Oh, hi," Louis says, his grin shit-eating and glorious. "Uh. Congratulations?" 

Zayn's finely honed sense of _oh, shit_ rings like a klaxon, and without missing a beat he grabs Louis' other hand, trying to pull him away through a gap in the crowd, making for the front door. Quick-thinking, Liam punches them man stoutly on the shoulder, distracting him for long enough that Louis wriggles out of his vice-grip, knocking the tray of drinks over, his laughter ecstatic as he ducks under the guy's beefy arm and makes a break for it. Louis grabs Liam by the back of his shirt and pulls him away, the tide of the party realising there are three English rats on board and rushing them out the front door, the crowd opening as Zayn and Louis and Liam run from the angry groom and his team of burly best men.

"Oh shit, oh shit," Louis says, though he sounds like he's having the time of his life. 

Piercing the veil between the club and the Montreal streets outside is shocking, the stagnant heat of the club opening up into a world trapped under the dome of a serious downpour, a thunderstorm flooding the streets with two inches of water. "Oh, shit!" Louis says again, still delighted, splashing out into the street as they fling themselves out of the open door.

Lightning rattles the buildings around them, flashing like blue nightclub lights, the shock of thunder a heavy bass note in their chests. Even as the rain comes down in buckets Louis doesn't stop running, doesn't let go of the other two boys, sprinting for a hundred, two hundred yards before they slow down, realising no one is chasing them.

They stand there in rush for a little bit, lost in the shock of it all, letting the rain pound around their shoulders, sticking their hair to their foreheads. It's a little forever, that moment, the three of them still holding hands like it would be dangerous to let go. Standing on a corner in downtown Montreal while cars rush by, spraying great wings of water onto the pavement. Their breathing is in sync, and Zayn can feel in Liam's wrist that their pulse is too. When Zayn closes his eyes the phosphors of the night are stamped on the back of his eyelids, firework illuminations of Liam's grin and the squeezed grip of Louis' hand and a stupid little adventure they've found together like a fucked up, disco-lit, sweet-wine Narnia.

"Holy shit," Louis says, already soaked-through, his hair plastered to his forehead. "Oh, fuck, wow. Have you quite finished?" he asks, turning to grin at Liam, punching his shoulder.

Liam stands on the sidewalk, breathing heavily with his eyes closed. "You are –"

"Amazing?" Louis asks. 

"Not the word I was going for," Liam says, opening his eyes and smiling now. Louis grabs him into a headlock, his body under his rain-slick shirt slight next to Liam's huge bracketed frame. "You are something else, that's for sure."

"Replay," Louis says, still holding the headlock easily even though Liam could break out of it at any moment.

"You are something else, that's for sure," Liam repeats. "You okay, Zayn?"

"Yeah," Zayn says, still catching his breath, a smoker's cough he hides behind a fist. "That was. Yeah, man. Fuck, Louis."

"Oh," Louis says. "That wasn't the plan, was it? You don't want to fuck _me_ , right? Are you changing the rules now, Zayn?" He lets Liam out of the chokehold, stands to his full height again, hands on his hips. Water is running down him like shower, dripping from his chin, shirt stuck to his heaving chest.

"Shut up," Zayn says quickly.

Liam wipes the water from his face, and his silky basketball shorts and rippled and clinging to his thighs like a bathing suit. He looks between Louis and Zayn with an earnest grin. "What's that? You had a plan in there?"

"Never mind," Zayn says, slinging an arm over Liam's shoulders. The rain is cool but Liam's still burning hot under his clothes, that inner furnace, like stone that's been sitting in the sun all day. "Shocking that Louis let things get out of hand."

"Nah," Louis says, pushing his hair out of his face, a little ducktail of wet curl. "I really like to keep things _in_ hand."

Zayn shoots Louis a warning look, but Louis just gives his best _who, me?_ shrug. 

"What are you two talking about?" Liam asks, hand sliding around Zayn's wet hips, the five hot points of his fingertips making a constellation.

"Nothing," Zayn says. "Come on, let's get back to the hotel."

The rain pounds on their shoulders, like sitting under a waterfall, their clean shoes now muddy and squelching with every step as they run through the rain down Saint-Catherine street, past the neon lights of shish taouk restaurants in Lebanese red and green smeared like watercolours on the pavement. They barely miss cars as they cross the street, angry burning diamonds of headlights and sharp honks of the horn, dodging through late night diners as a short cut out of the rain, laughing and stumbling and holding hands the whole way.

*

The water dripping from their clothes and pooled in their trainers soaks the carpet in the lift. The shock of the air conditioned hotel lobby on their drenched clothes is freezing and they huddle together and shiver in the dull fluorescent glow of the hotel lights until the lift dings on the seventeenth floor and they stumble out.

The thrill of running from the club, the shock of a punch almost thrown at Louis is still in the live wires of their veins, and they kind of half-run to the safety of Zayn's hotel room, the one nearest the lifts, like they're still under the threat of knuckles and a crazy midnight thunderstorm. Zayn palms his key card out of his hip pocket and unlocks his door, the three of them dodging in behind him, their breathing still laboured until Zayn slams the door closed behind them. Even inside the hotel they can hear the rain, getting heavier, the sound of it pounding against the windows like a rasp, like pebbles being washed down a shore.

"Wow, yeah," Liam says in the dark, and Zayn can hear his grin in his words. "I'm totally soaked."

"Are you?" Louis asks flatly. "How did that happen, dude?"

"And I'm really cold," Liam pouts, somehow never able to feel the sting in Louis' words.

Zayn pats the walls, looking for a light switch. The lights flicker on in groups, first this short hallway, then the anteroom with its sofa and glass coffee table, and lastly the ivory and black box of a bed by the far window. Their footprints are dark in the cream-coloured carpet, boyish tracks in rubber soled trainers as they toe them off, making a mess of everything. They're still catching their breath as they peel off their soaked socks, little wet cannonballs they fling away. 

Liam runs his hands through his short hair, pushing it away from his forehead. It's spiky and wet, the hedgehog look he gets when he towels off poolside, his broad frame rising and falling as he takes in deep breaths of cool air. "That was, wow. That was something," he says, giving a big stretch, wet shirt painted on to him. "I'm totally exhausted."

"Me too," Louis says, putting his hands on Liam's shoulders as they wander into Zayn's hotel room, all bare feet and bare ankles and the ribbons of muscles in their calves and the string of tendons stretching down to their heels. "Come on, man, let's watch a movie and cuddle."

"Yeah," Liam says, his voice a rush of happiness. "Brrrr."

"Hey, not my bed, you're still soaking," Zayn says, following them in, wiping his face with his hands, really starting to shiver now.

"You saying you wanna get Liam out of his wet clothes?" Louis asks, turning on the ball of his foot to grin at Zayn. "That your brilliant plan, Zayn? Kind of obvious, man."

" _Louis_."

"Plan?" Liam asks again, the last three years finely tuning his attention to words like that.

"I –" Zayn freezes, his voice cluttering up. He _does_ want Liam out of his wet clothes, he wants to wrap him up in fluffy towels so he stops shivering, but Louis' words have been put against a whetstone, sharpened against flint, and Zayn can't _say_ that he does without admitting to something more raw, something Louis obviously wants him to say. "I'll get some towels."

Gritting his teeth to stop them from chattering (and to stop himself from saying something that Louis can easily pounce on,) Zayn ducks into the bathroom, pulling all of the towels from their warming rack. He tosses one to Louis, one to Liam, keeps one for himself. Their undressing is funnier than it is attractive, the three of them trying to wriggle out of wet clothes, peeling shirts from skin, struggling against the slick cloth that smells like the Montreal downtown, diesel and something yeasty like beer and the green tang of rain water. Liam's jeans are even more impossible to get off than usual, and when he tries to peel them off he ends up flopping on the floor, laughing as he falls like a building being demolished.

"Oh, for the love of – come on, Zayn," Louis says, his eyes flickering brightly when he looks at Zayn.

One hand on each leg, they help Liam pull off his jeans, the sopping mess of them flung towards the front door, where they land with a wet thud like a dead octopus. Liam is struck by a fit of laughter, lying on the floor next to the bed dressed only in damp CK briefs that cling to him, describing the arch of his hips and the outline of his dick, grinning and laughing while Louis starts to struggle with his jeans and Zayn tries his best to get his shirt off, tangled around his head.

"Coolest boyband in the _world_ ," Liam says, leaning up on his elbows to watch them fidget their way out of clothes turned to dungeons. "Sickest, coolest kids."

Zayn finally frees himself from his shirt, throwing it aside. He stands above Liam, still in his black jeans but nothing else, and Liam grins up at him. "You're loving this, aren't you?" Zayn asks fondly, hand on his hip, resting over the black ink blot of his tattooed heart.

"S'like when I was a kid," Liam says, happy to sit there on the floor almost naked and watch his two friends struggle. "I remember doing this in the summer rain, when I was out running or playing footie or whatever. It was so fun, like being naughty, running in the rain," he adds, almost shyly, like he's afraid to show too much earnestness at once. Zayn hasn't started on taking off his jeans yet, he's still too lost in the puppyish sincerity in Liam's voice, the way he keeps beaming up at Louis and Zayn like he's tying them together in knots, the memory of the night, strings between their fingers like a cat's cradle. "Tonight was – tonight was really fun. I feel so –" Liam hesitates again, stuck in that noose of sincerity.

"Alive?" Zayn suggests.

Liam nods quickly, his smile deepening when he realises he has an ally. "And – like, happy. Proper happy. The kind of happy where you forget how to not be happy, you know?" Liam asks. And even though he's tall, and even though he's muscled (Zayn can see it all in the way he's holding himself, the ripple of muscle of his abs, the slight strain in the round of his shoulders, the breadth of his strong chest,) something about the cold and the rain water and the champagne colour still in his skin softens the hard edges of Liam, bringing out the teenager in him. He looks happy in a way that Zayn feels like he could taste on his lips, the kind of happy that could be passed through warm skin and thoughtless trust.

"I need a cigarette," Zayn says suddenly, pulling out of his nosedive at just the last second. Without waiting for their reactions (well, Louis' reaction,) he gathers his smoking material from his bedside table and makes a quick line for the balcony door.

"Zayn?" Louis asks. "Where're you going?"

"Out, just for a bit," Zayn says, his voice tighter than he'd like.

"What's up with him?" Zayn can hear Liam ask, and Louis must shrug because they don't say anything else.

The balcony is covered, sheltered from the still furious storm outside, a storm that's raging like an out of control wedding party. Thunder ricochets through the tall buildings like a pinball, echoing into a kind rolling boulder, running through the city like Indiana Jones. It catches in Zayn, the wildness of the storm, and seem to reinforce the prickly electric feeling in his skin that comes over him when Liam grins at him, like his happiness is a fire kindled between the three of them. That Zayn is somehow responsible for that smile. Lighting up his cigarette, Zayn notices that if he tilts his head to one side, out of the corner of his eye, he can see Louis give Liam a hand and help him up off the floor. They hug, Louis drawing Liam in, rubbing his back and whispering something in his ear that makes Liam laugh, and then grow quiet.

It's not that Zayn's a jealous guy, or if he is he would never be with his boys, but there's something about the way Louis and Liam act together that catches him just south of the sternum and coils up tight, like the springs of a broken watch. Louis never has problems showing Liam how he feels, and he has no problems accepting the love Liam returns two-fold, three-fold over. There's an easiness to the way they move together, their boyish two-step dance of poking and prodding and punching and hugging, nothing at all like the way Zayn lives with Liam. Zayn's always just on the edge of regret, like he's half-ready to take back any admission of love if it doesn't feel right, like he's ready to detonate and take the evidence with him if Liam ever understood a tenth of what Zayn feels sometimes. It's gotten easier, much easier over time to let Liam in to that secret and Zayn has grown to love their own special kind of thing, but it still feels like an impossibility that he'd ever have the kind of relationship Liam and Louis do, where they've somehow built in each other a best friend. He knows that Liam loves him, is reminded of it almost daily, but there's still a tiny part of Zayn leftover from the start that panics if things get too deep, still so fucking worried even after three years that he might love Liam more than Liam loves him. And now, especially now, he's really regretting ever mentioning that to Louis.

"You know what they say about cigarettes," Louis says from inside the hotel, sitting perched on the edge of the television cabinet, now dressed only in his briefs and towel. "Oral fixation, mate. Very telling."

"That's like, the third time," Liam says, turning to Louis and giving him a whack on the shoulder. "You keep making, like, jokes."

"I _do_ keep making jokes," Louis says, talking to Liam like he's a child. "I'm very funny, didn't you know?"

Liam laughs, and swats Louis' shoulder again, Louis sticking out his tongue in return. Liam is still laughing as he sits on the edge of the bed, dressed only in briefs, and he starts toweling his hair. "You know the kind of jokes I mean."

"Louis," Zayn says, turning around and leaning against the rail of his balcony, cold metal bar pressing against the small of his back. "You're grasping at straws, mate."

Louis gives him an _oh, come on_ glance, the kind Louis reserves for when Zayn is ruining all his plans, no, _their_ plans. Zayn keeps forgetting that he maybe kind of asked for this. "You're very orally fixated, aren't you? The way you _hold_ that cigarette. And the way _put it_ in your _mouth_."

Zayn sighs, that special sigh for dealing with Louis. That wasn't even a double-entendre, he thinks, that was just an entendre. Zayn knows he can't just stand out here, doing the aloof thing he's perfected when he doesn't want to talk about the burn in his chest and the want in his fingers, because he knows Louis won't stop this game until he gets what he wants. Zayn _really_ regrets telling him about those cluttered things now, things he knew were better untold. Reluctantly, he tosses his half-smoked cigarette over the rail of the balcony and walks back into the hotel room with his arms drawn across his chest, shaking his head at Louis. _Don't_ , Zayn mouths at him. _Stop_.

The frown Louis gives isn't the kind of a boy who is having his good time ruined, it's the frown of someone being wounded, and Zayn is somewhat taken aback realising that this might mean something more for Louis than just an easy joke. Louis takes the few steps towards Zayn and puts his hand on his shoulder. "Don't back out, man. I _know_ him, I know what he wants. Who he wants," Louis murmurs quickly, low enough that Liam can't hear, even though he's straining to. "I know him and I know you're wrong," he says, a kind of urgency in his words, an urgency for Zayn to understand. It's the kind of sincerity that doesn't often get involved in a game, hitting a minor chord too serious for the C-major of Louis' life. "You're wrong."

Zayn wants to say something but freezes up. He gives Louis a tight, not-quite-angry look, already feeling like things have gone way beyond his control, trying to stop a forest fire with a thimble. "I don't know," he says, muttered between lips he tries to keep closed. "I don't think I wanna know. I don't wanna know if I'm wrong."

"Trust me," Louis says against his ear. "You trust me, don't you?"

"Guys?" Liam asks, though they both ignore him.

"Yeah," Zayn says, almost inaudibly.

"You love me, right?"

"Course."

"Then just go with it, babe," is all Louis says before gently pushing Zayn away, strolling back to his spot leaning against the cabinet. "The way you held that joint in Miami," Louis says, his voice loud and controlled again, looking at Liam, "you look pretty experienced at it, too." It's about the worst performance Zayn has ever seen in his life, just the idea of it making his cheeks burn with rushing blood, his head going dizzy.

"Experienced at _what_?" Liam asks, on the edge of laughing. "What are you going on about? Louis you're not making sense."

Louis pouts theatrically. "I'm being fucking smooth here, man. I'm saying you looked good with a joint in your mouth. Can't a boy compliment another boy at having a very attractive oral fixation without it becoming somehow _dirty_?"

The groan Zayn gives is too loud, and Liam catches it. He doesn't laugh, he just narrows his eyes, his nostrils flaring a little like he's caught the scent of something. "What are – what are you two doing?"

" _Nothing_ ," Zayn says, breathing out exasperation.

"Nothing?" Liam asks, looking at Louis for confirmation.

"It's honestly nothing," Zayn says, hoping it doesn't sound like pleading.

"Shit, Zayn, you're still shivering," Louis says, losing his sarcastic edge and dipping into his bank account of sincerity, like he's throwing Liam off the scent. "C'mere, babe," Louis says as he grabs the last towel and wraps it around Zayn's bare shoulders tightly, rubbing his shoulders to bring a prickling warmth back into them. Zayn can feel Louis' cool, hard chest press up against his shoulder blades as he steps in flush behind him, just about the same height. Louis gets in close, tucking his chin on Zayn's shoulder and resting there, his hair toweled-soft, smelling of champagne and rain. Even though Zayn knows this is all part of Louis' plan, that Louis should not be trusted right now, Zayn still gently bumps the side of his head against Louis', just a reminder, a shared touch that keeps them together.

Liam looks up at them from the bed, a soft expression, a curious one that he tries to hide. He stays where he's sitting, arms locked and resting back on his palms, accentuating the bulge of his delts, but still somehow made small under their shadow. "You guys?" Liam whispers now, a shade in his voice like he's being left out.

"I know how to make you happy, eh?" Louis asks, and Zayn knows it's for Liam. Just by the way Liam smiles Zayn knows that Louis doesn't ask that often, he knows Louis has trouble making vocal the things he so obviously, physically feels. Hearing him ask that kind of unsettles Zayn, but not in a bad way, just in a way where he knows they're suddenly somewhere else, a quieter place than they've ever been before, the transforming power of a thunderstorm and shared shivering.

"Of course you do," Liam says, and it's almost in awe, lost in the strange geometry of the night. Liam swallows hard, and laughs once, and smiles again. "You both do." Liam hesitates then, his brow furrowing for a moment as he comes up with an answer that he delivers in another shaky smile. "But, like, in – in totally different ways."

Zayn feels his cheeks flame again, and he wants to turn away, to make the safe few steps that would let the whole night fizzle out as it ought to, going to the minifridge for a beer and letting everything end in before it begins. But he can't, not with Louis behind him and keeping him still, and that must have been his plan all along. Zayn can't help but smile back at Liam and he can't help feel the warm hum of _something_ grow louder in his chest, like a gathering storm; a night that won't evaporate, a night that will stay on him like tattoo ink.

"How?" Louis pushes, and he can feel Louis' hands still on his shoulders, no longer rubbing, just holding him there like he's forcing Zayn to face the full heat of the firing squad.

"I don't know," Liam says.

Louis' smile tilts at the corner. "Yeah, you do. You told me before, dude."

Liam breaks the look then, having to glance away. " _Louis_. Come on, I didn't – that wasn't meant to be –"

"Don't worry," Louis says. "You've both told me rubbish the other one ought to know. I'm tired of you both sticking me with it and telling me not to say nowt. Let's have it out. Now."

Liam turns back to look at them both, focusing in on Zayn. "It's just, like, well. I was telling Louis that, like, he throws me out into the world and makes me laugh until it hurts, and you –" Liam fidgets, letting himself drop back down to his elbows, can't even look at Zayn when he says it. "And you bring me back home," he finishes in a whisper.

There's a beat of silence, and Zayn can feel Louis grin really hard behind him, a victorious grin knowing that he's somehow come out on top because of this. Zayn tries to turn away but Louis keeps him still, making him suffer the consequences of that love.

"I told you," Louis says softly into the wet shell of Zayn's ear.

"Told him?" Liam asks. His brow wrinkles again, and Zayn can actually see him work through it like an algebra problem, balancing the equations of three boys until he finds the solution. "You planned this. You both _planned_ this?"

"It was his idea," Louis says, chin still balanced on Zayn's shoulder, a cheeky grin. 

"No it wasn't," Zayn says quickly.

"Dude, you _asked_ me to help you have a, ahem, special night out with Liam," Louis says. "You asked me like five times. It was totally your idea."

"Zayn?" Liam asks. "You planned this?"

"No, I –" Zayn squeezes the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. He can feel Louis' grip around his arms get tighter, like a promise there's no getting out of this. "I suggested we just go out and have a deadly day. That's all."

"He kept moaning about how much you meant to him and how he was going to write a million stupid songs about your friendship or something and I was _sick_ of it," Louis says. There's a familiar sharpness to his voice, his usual swaggering pride in being the conductor of these chaotic symphonies, but under it there's a real sense of need, the need Louis always has such a hard time making real. A need to stop being the go-between, a need to stop holding all of this love inside him even though he's been forced to secrecy. A need for everyone to just be properly in love, damnit. 

Zayn squeezes his eyes shut, wishing desperately to be somewhere else when he opens them again. "Jesus Christ, I didn't even _say_ anything." He opens his eyes, but no, still here in the hotel room. "Liam, I swear –"

"You asked me to help _seduce_ him," Louis shouts, almost gleefully. "You said that actual word."

" _Dude_ ," Zayn says, wincing.

"Seduce?" Liam asks, sounding the syllables like he's never heard them before.

"And _you_ ," Louis says, jutting his chin out at Liam. "You kept talking about how great Zayn is but you never fucking _tell_ him, do you? You just tell _me_ , and I already fucking know how great Zayn is."

Liam frowns, looking at Louis like he's somehow been betrayed by something, maybe someone, someone starting inside his own broad, iron-strong chest. "I never – oh."

"Fuck, Louis," Zayn says. "You are _awful_ at this, come on. Just, stop now. Fuck, I just wanted us to like, chill together. That's all, honestly." He can feel how red his cheeks are, a campfire warmth against his face, and he can feel Louis' petulant squeeze against his arm, telling Zayn off. "Just ignore everything. How about we do that?"

"But you know I love you, right?" Liam asks, his voice dropping young.

"Course he does, but it doesn't hurt to be reminded," Louis says, and Zayn elbows him in the ribs. "Ow, fuck, don't hit me when I'm right, you know I'm right."

"Okay, no, that's it," Zayn says. He can't stand Liam looking like that, like he's let himself down, being shown his own shortcomings in Zayn's stupid need. Zayn can't stand to be the one who makes Liam frown like that, he can't be somehow responsible for Liam hating himself for letting anyone down. "We're dropping this. This is fucked up. This is so stupid. It was a joke, we crashed a wedding, we ran in a thunderstorm, can't we just –"

Liam is up off the bed and in Zayn's space in fewer than two frantic, denied syllables. Zayn isn't even done talking when Liam puts a hand on his cheek and kisses him, kisses his words ("stop talking about this,") kisses the rainwater left on their lips, kisses Zayn firmly at first and then melting into him. Zayn nips at Liam's bottom lip, almost on instinct, the rest of his body frozen in white noise. Only his mouth still works, tasting Liam and kissing him, and kissing him until he can feel Louis finally, finally pull away to leave him there in that moment. He tilts his head slightly, feels his nose brush against Liam's, feels the perfect gold moment of the kiss, the wet of their lips, their shared breath, and then the soft Hollywood smack as they pull apart.

"I am the fucking _master_ of seduction," Louis says, his towel falling off his shoulders as he pumps his fists in the air.

"Is this it?" Liam asks, their lips parting, his hands falling away from Zayn. There's a new strength to his voice, a determination to see something through. It's like Liam has learned the rules of this sport and has decided he won't lose on a technicality, that he's going to play this until he finds a way to win. It's been an open net until now, but with the word _seduce_ on his cherry-red lips something in Liam is coming alive, a spirit of competition that stretches back to when he was a kid and jabbing teenage fists into a Kevlar punching bag. It's that same need to never be left behind again. "Is this what you had planned?"

"Y-yeah, more or less," Zayn whispers.

"I really should've told you more often," Liam says, pressing his forehead against Zayn's.

"Same," Zayn says, trying not to sound as dreamy and far away as he feels. "Yeah, same."

"I am fucking amazing," Louis says, arms crossed against is chest.

"All right, so," Liam says, a throat clearing cough pressed into his fist. When he looks at Louis over Zayn's shoulder there's a sudden seriousness in his eyes, an intensity Zayn has never picked up in Liam before. "W-what happens next?"

Louis' winning grin stutters and fails then. "What?"

"Tell me what happens next," Liam says quietly, getting that shy prickle of heat slashed in his cheeks like a winter cold. His breathing is already getting faster, shallower, like he's on the edge of some kind of panic. "Is there – is there a next?" His voice is so low, almost a whisper, but Zayn can still hear the _want_ in his voice, like Liam is asking for something he doesn't even know how to name. Like he wants a next, a lot of nexts, like the only way he'll let himself believe he's loved is on a dare.

Louis exchanges a quick glance with Zayn, shrugging. "Not really," Louis says. Zayn knows that Louis can see that look in Liam's eyes too, that worry and want, the only way Liam knows of asking for more. "Do you – do you want something to happen next?"

Liam sits back down on the bed, crawls back until he's lying on it fully, propping himself up on his elbows. The elastic of his briefs are tugged down as he shuffles across the bedspread, rolling them down an inch, two inches until they're just sliding off his hips, showing a dark trail of hair running down from the lip of his navel. Even Louis seems shocked, the look on his face like he never realised how deep he ever got in to Liam's chest, how much of himself was absorbed over time. It really has been three years in the making, forged under the industrial fires of Louis' mischief, and Liam has come out of it a changed boy, the kind who was taught how to need things he never knew he needed, to crave a certain kind of trouble. "Maybe," Liam says, a tremble in a voice that is beginning to seem less sure by the minute. "What – what if I did?"

Louis slides in close to Zayn again, hand on his hip, standing beside him and looking down at their wild boy, almost naked and smiling a worried half-smile, his eyes the colour of steeped tea as he looks up at them in a way Zayn never really thought Liam could ever look. It's like nothing else, the feel of Liam's gaze almost physical, an actual weight pressing into Zayn's chest that says: _I want you_. It feels better than the kiss, it feels better than most things.

"What – what the hell is happening?" Zayn asks.

"Louis?" Liam asks, lowing himself down to his elbows, reclined on the bed even as his muscles tighten up, his toes curling and relaxing in a rhythm. "You – didn't tell him?"

"I wanted him to find out on his own," Louis murmurs.

"Didn't tell me what?" Zayn asks.

"Liam," Louis says, his voice husky now, beaten down. "You serious, man?"

Liam gives a tight nod, but he seems to struggle on it. He actually looks halfway between crying and laughing, a tension in his body that's all stress. Zayn is used to Liam being the one who best deals with stress, bleeding it off during a jog or on weights, and seeing him deal with it like this makes his heart hurt, a knife in his side, realising how often it's Liam comforting them when the tour gets to be too much, how little time they spend asking Liam if he's okay. Zayn long got used to Liam saying _yeah, fine_ whenever he was pushed to talk about, so watching Liam struggling to deal with it here, right now, makes Zayn feel a rush of guilt like ice in his blood. 

"What do you want me to do?" Zayn asks, feeling like this is his fault, for opening all this up with a stupid plan cracked with Louis nights ago. "What can I do?"

"Like that one time?" Louis asks. Zayn can feel Louis' grip on his hip get tighter, like something is being pumped in Louis' blood he finds hard to control, a dam breaking and flooding his skin with warmth. "When you –"

Liam nods again, squeezing his eyes shut, opening them again. A glint of wetness at the corners, almost in frustration. The shell of his made-up confidence is beginning to crack, and the light coming from between those fissures is shy and desperate and young. 

"Liam?" Zayn tries again. "Just tell me, man."

"He – can't," Louis says uncertainly. "It's not like that." When Louis looks at Zayn it's with a need for him to understand without putting it into words. Zayn tries to figure out, he really does, but has no idea what Liam wants, he only knows that it's important, suddenly important, and Zayn just wants to be part of it, to be the one they want. 

"Liam?" Zayn asks, turning to him. Louis holds his breath, waiting to see what Liam will say.

"I need you," Liam says, his voice still so small.

"Need me to do what?" Zayn asks, and his whole body feels clammy and hot all at once, damp under his towel, his jeans still wet-through and clinging to his legs. He feels like the answer should be obvious but Zayn can't get it out, and it's so fucking frustrating being on the edge like this, wanting to help but feeling useless. He can't get his mind to wrap around the idea of Liam splayed out on a hotel bed in his briefs, his skin pale and dark freckles standing out like spilled pepper, _asking_ for something on Louis can give, only Zayn can give. It doesn't fit, nothing makes sense with a boy so normally in control begging for something like this.

Liam looks at Louis for help, a plaintive note in his eyes. "Louis, I can't –"

"You really want it?" Louis asks again. His hold on Zayn's hip changes, the flat of his palm gently pushing Zayn, like he's physically trying to get him wrapped up in this too. Zayn can't help but watch them, lost in their conversation but drawn to the darkness in their voices. Even though he can only half-follow their conversation, Zayn knows that all the money has been pushed into the middle of the table, his own included.

Liam struggles to make a noise, something in the affirmative.

"Okay," Louis says then, and he lets go of Zayn, walks closer to the bed with a trepidation Zayn has never, ever seen in Louis before. Zayn feels lost without Louis' hand on his hip.

"Zayn," Liam says, and there's something new in his voice, a strawberry redness in his throat all sweet and wet. "I want you to – just, come here, please. Please."

Zayn walks towards the bed automatically, his legs numb, his breathing as short and quick as his heartbeat. He doesn't know why he's needed, but he wants to be the boy that Liam talks to like that.

"Get behind him," Louis says, his eyes half-lidded and dark. "Hold him, yeah?" He looks at Liam for confirmation, and Liam gives a lip-bitten nod. "Just, hold him." A pause. "Zayn, you know what to do, man."

Zayn nods dumbly even though he has no idea what to do. 

"Your jeans," Liam says, looking up at Zayn with a shocked wideness to his eyes. "You – you should take them off first."

"Oh, uh, yeah," Zayn says, and he realises that this lake is deeper than he thought, dark waters he's never swum in before. He obeys, rolling his damp jeans down his legs until he's just in his boxers. With a nod from Louis, a nod of solidarity that they're in this together, Zayn crawls into bed behind Liam, lying back against the headboard as Liam wriggles into his lap. Feeling like this is what's needed of him, Zayn puts his arms around Liam's shoulders, cushioning him, cradling him, and he risks a quick kiss to the top of his head. The change in Liam is incredible, this sigh running through him, this _relief_ in being held.

"Zayn," Liam mumbles, looking up at him, his voice full of new safety. "Yeah," Liam says dimly. "This is – yeah, this is how it's supposed to be."

"I thought it might," Louis says, crawling onto the bed and kneeling on his haunches, resting on the balls of his feet. Somewhere in the time Zayn spent staring dumbly at Liam lying on the bed, all pliant and ready, Louis has found a bottle of lube from the hugely overpriced Intimacy Kit that was sitting in the hotel minibar, the same on that Zayn laughed at when they first checked into the hotel room. Zayn feels his heart double-beat, stop, skipping like a shitty CD player. "You sure, Li?" Louis asks again.

On one level, Zayn knows what's going on, he knows it like a tickle in the back of his throat, but for some reason he still stares at Louis dumbly, he wonders why he's holding Liam in his arms while Louis crouches over him. He knows, he must know what will happen next, but that doesn't stop the him from staring in disbelief as Louis hooks his thumbs under the elastic of Liam's briefs and Liam arches his hips upwards to let Louis pull them off. It's a testament to how fucked up he is that Zayn barely reacts when he sees Liam undone, naked, still too saturated to understand anything more, like taking another hit off a joint when he's already too stoned to move. Liam's cock, already hard, bounces up against his belly, and Zayn stares, stares at his boy's naked body until he feels Liam arch his head back into Zayn's chest. "Oh," Zayn says, looking down at Liam, startled, looking down into brown eyes that keep him calm. "Liam," he says, a dark caramel creeping his voice. "Hey, Liam."

"Hey," Liam says, little and scrunched up. "Kiss me, dude?"

Zayn leans forward, still holding Liam's arms back, still keeping him close and tied down, and he leaves a lingering kiss on his lips. "Yeah?" The numbness spreads to his fingertips, like too much liquor, like the way lights seem to glow and burst when you're high. He can't seem to control his body, everything he's doing completely on instinct. The single thought in his head: make Liam feel better, make Liam feel _good_.

"Spider-Man kiss," Liam says, smiling warmly, already so blown out even though he's barely been touched.

"Face it, tiger, you just hit the jackpot," Zayn says with his trembling voice, making Liam laugh, which in this moment – held in Zayn's arms, naked, his breathing shallow in anticipation – makes Zayn's heart pound like crazy, a hummingbird in a shoebox.

"Yeah," Liam murmurs. "I don't tell you enough. I should tell you more."

"Don't worry about it, man," Zayn murmurs, wondering how his voice still works.

"I want you to do it, too," Liam says. Zayn looks away, just for a second, and he can see Louis wetting two fingers with the lube, one hand gently nudging Liam's legs apart. He looks back at Liam and he sees it in him, in his slightly crooked smile and his fidgeting hands, Zayn can see what Liam wants but is making even the top of his chest burn with shame when he tries to admit it. The stress that needs a hand to calm, the tension in him waiting to be blown out.

"You want to be fucked?" Zayn asks finally, naming the unnamed, sounding remarkably calm even though he can't believe he's asking it.

Liam nods, biting his lower lip harder. He can't even say the word.

"You want me to fuck you?" Zayn asks, quieter this time.

Liam nods again. "Both of you." And fuck, Zayn can't help it, he's hard and he's got Liam in his arms and he can see Louis kneeling between Liam's legs, two fingers of his right hand slick, and Zayn needs to kiss him. He kisses Liam again, leaning over him, that upside-down kiss with their lips locking like puzzle pieces, tasting all those things that make Liam warm to the touch.

" _Fuck_ ," Louis mutters. "You really want it, don't you?" Liam groans a little as Louis presses a fingertip against Liam's ass, slowly working into him, and Liam nods obediently. "You sounded so desperate when you told me," Louis says, "but that wasn't even the half of it, was it?"

"No," Liam says. "I really – " deep breath, eyes closed, " – I need you."

"You ready?" Louis asks, eyes flitting up to Zayn, back down to Louis.

"Yeah," Liam says, and he looks up at Zayn and manages a soft little smile.

Zayn can feel Liam's whole body change under him as Louis pushes his first finger inside, one, two knuckles deep in Liam. His soft skin hardens like cooling metal, his muscles drawn tight, a whimper he doesn't dare let escape his lips, and under all of that this deep relief, this relief like he can let himself go completely. Liam lets himself get taken over, his body pliant against Louis' hands, in Zayn's arms, and Zayn has never felt this important to anyone before. Liam gives them the heavy weight of his life, like he's letting them do whatever they want with it because he trusts them, because of that burdened love he's somehow never sure he ever properly deserved.

"Fuck, look at him," Louis says. He looks up at Zayn, pupils hugely dark, the same look of awe that Zayn is feeling right now. "You want another finger?"

"Yeah," Liam mumbles, the sharp blades of his shoulders digging into Zayn's legs as he pushes himself down onto Louis. "Please, yes."

Louis looks at Zayn like he's asking for permission, and Zayn nods dumbly. Still holding Liam's arms, still feeling every little change in his body, still feeling the incredible relief in Liam of a boy put in his place. God, he looks so good like this, splayed out, still so fucking hard even though he hasn't been touched, his forehead knitted in concentration, sweat prickling at his temples and in the hollows of his collar. Even the little bundle of shame in his chest for loving this so much is amazing, this whole other Liam, usually so composed and in control wanting to be anything but.

"Do it," Zayn says. 

Zayn knows the exact moment Louis uses a second finger, pressing into Liam, because he can feel it on Liam's mouth. The tightening in his lips, the buried _oh_ that he kisses into Zayn's mouth, the hitched breathing in false starts. Zayn tastes everything on him, his sweat and the copper penny of blood from his chewed lips, and those things Zayn never knew Liam needed. It's like he's done all the learning of Liam he could from the outside, but here against the warmth of his lips is something totally new.

"Fuck, fuck," Louis says as he opens Liam up with his hands, scissors his fingers slightly and spreading Liam with a groan. "You're so tight, man." Louis curls his fingers in Liam, arching up, hitting a spot in Liam that _ruins_ him, makes Liam whimper out loud as his breathing goes shallow, his eyes squeezed tight. "Breathe, Liam," Louis continues. "Breathe out, let me do it again"

Keeping a tight hold of Liam's arms, Zayn looks at Louis and nods again. Louis curls his fingers, and the same thing rolls through Liam like the thunder outside, a quick burst in his chest, his hands taking fistful of bedsheet.

"Louis," Liam says plaintively. "Do it – God, again, please, again."

"I haven't even fucked you yet," Louis says, almost a laugh.

"Have you two done this before?" Zayn asks, can't help but ask.

"No," Louis says carefully. "But we've – talked about it. Liam told me when he was stoned. He could barely get it out. I wanted to – you know. He was so fucked up about it, but. I wanted to, and then you said you wanted to have a go with him, and. It made sense." Louis shrugs helplessly. "Why can't you all just, like, be in love the way we ought to be?"

"I couldn't ask for –" Liam struggles again, his bottom lip chewed raw.

"You asking now?" Zayn asks quietly.

"I want you both so much," Liam says with as much firmness as he can, even as his voice shakes to pieces.

"Okay," Louis says, working his fingers inside of Liam. Pressing into him, making him writhe, three knuckles deep in his best friend. "You wanna ride Zayn? You wanna watch him while he fucks you?"

Liam groans, his mouth a soft red circle, his head thrown back into Zayn's lap exposing the sweat-slick line of his throat. "Yeah, fuck, y-yeah."

Zayn can't keep his eyes off of Liam, the way he grinds his hips down on Louis' fingers, the way he so obviously wants it. Liam can barely make a sentence now, all his want made real in clenched hands and a husky moan that Zayn knows means _kiss me, take me_. He can't even imagine fucking him, but there's something contagious about Liam's want of it, planting the same idea in Zayn, the idea that it's how it ought to be, that they're made for each other in a way that's impossible to explain. He wants to fuck Liam to feel him, to see how good he can make Liam feel, because Liam wants it and since the very beginning Zayn has always wished to be something Liam wants like this.

"Fuck, you're going to be so good," Louis murmurs to Liam, a constant stream of attention that Zayn knows Liam craves. Louis' free hand runs up Liam's sides, spreading his hand over Liam's ribs, calming him with a touch. "I'm going to stop now," Louis says, and Zayn can feel Liam tense up, and it's only then that he realises Louis was using four fingers on Liam. Four. "I'm going to pull out, so Zayn can fuck you, so he can feel how fucking tight you are."

Liam nods quickly, rendered almost wordless. Zayn has a hard time even making sense of the picture but it kind of clicks when he sees the way Liam looks when Louis is fingering him. Liam is usually so composed, so happy to take the charge (seven a.m. radio interviews and memorised itineraries and healthy snacks and hour long jogs in the morning,) that he never really shuts off. He's always turned on, always thinking about where they have to be and when, twenty four hours a day spent trying to be his very best, loathing himself when he fails and just setting the bar higher next time when he succeeds. When he's like this though, being held by Zayn and fingered by Louis until he moans, he finally gets a few minutes to let go of all of that. It's the incredibly intoxicating drug of losing control, giving it to his best friends like car keys after a night drinking, trusting it to them. It's like Liam doesn't even know that he gets to be taken care of too, spending too much of his time caring for other people without realising he can be loved too, he can be held down and be shown what he means to them, that he can let go without being a failure. So he whimpers, so he nods instead of saying _I want you to fuck me until I cry_ , so he doesn't mention a damn thing, he just leaves Louis and Zayn to learn him in any way they can, starting with his mouth and working their way down. He trusts them to know him better than Liam knows himself. With a feeling like a needle of adrenaline jammed between the slats of his ribs, Zayn realises he does, they do. He knows what Liam needs, even though Liam can't begin to say it.

"You want me to fuck you?" Zayn asks quietly. "You want to feel me tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Liam says. 

"Ask me to do it," Zayn says.

Liam looks lost, almost scared of the intensity of his own need. "Zayn."

"Ask me to fuck you," Zayn says. He can see Louis raise an eyebrow, though he doesn't interrupt. "It's all right, Liam. Just let me take care of you, dude. Ask me to do it."

"I –" Liam struggles with that frustration again, all those pent up years of struggling with trying to be what people expect him to be, this man, this strong man who boxes and tries to be what people expect of him, who doesn't let himself get taken care of because he's been told that's not what boys should ever want.

"I love you, dude," Zayn says, running his thumb over Liam's cheek, the sharp rasp of a day's worth of stubble.

"I love you," Louis says, a little breathless, his calming hand on Liam's stomach, keeping him down on the bed, making sure he's stuck in this love.

Liam's face scrunches up slightly, a squint in his eyes like he's trying to hold something back. "Fuck me, Zayn," he finally says, almost silent.

"All right, dude," Zayn says, the hint of a smile, the kind he knows Liam can't help but return. "You – wanna be on top?"

"Wait," Liam says. He leans forward, lifting himself off of Zayn's lap and sitting upright between the two of them. "Kiss me," Liam says, to Louis, to Zayn, to both of them. "Can we just – all of us, first?"

Louis laughs, his eyes flashing at Zayn. "All right," he says easily. "Come here, man."

Zayn licks his lips. "You're a fucking dick," Zayn says. "You knew this would happen and you didn't even warn me."

"And you love me for it," Louis says. "If it were up to you two fucking nothing would ever get done."

"Yeah, yeah," Zayn says, but he can't help grinning. 

They meet over Liam's shoulders, Liam sandwiched between them as Louis goes for a first hard bite on Zayn's lower lip. It's a savage kiss at first, hungry and competitive, but then Zayn feels Liam's hand run down his thigh, and he can feel the shock in Louis' mouth when Liam uses his other hand to palm over Louis' cock. Louis groans and slows down, letting Zayn take him in short nips, snake bites, until they find the molten core, the wet heat of the kiss against their lips. Liam was right, the way they need each other in completely different ways. The soft love they have for Liam is traded for their own mischief, partners in crime, a violence and brilliant fun in their biting, kissing way. Louis puts a hand on the back of Zayn's neck to pull him in, the wet slickness of his tongue tasting sweet against the bitter tobacco in Zayn's mouth. And in there, with the need for Liam, with the teasing laughter, is a love for Louis that's burned its way through Zayn like a brushfire, ruining everything in the best way, tattoo guns on each others' skin and an understanding Zayn is pretty sure he's never had with anyone else ever before. 

When Louis pulls away, it's only so he can kiss Liam. Everything shifts, suddenly going gentle, though not without a few playful bites against Liam's jaw, the tip of his nose. Liam muffles a helpless laugh, and then a cluttered moan against Louis' mouth. Liam's hand slides from Zayn's thigh and covers his hand instead, squeezing it tight even as Louis dominates the rest of him. Zayn takes the cue and puts his lips on Liam's neck, pressing kisses there, daring to make a mark, sucking out little red stars against the muscle of Liam's throat. 

And then Liam is turning, twisting to meet Zayn's lips. They knock noses, clash teeth as they laugh, but then Liam kisses Zayn properly, face to face, on the same level. He kisses Zayn with that same clenched up need Zayn saw before, and he feels like he's lifting the world from Atlas' shoulders in the way Liam relaxes under him. 

"Yeah," Liam says finally. "I wanna be on top."

Louis pushes Zayn down flat on the bed while Liam turns around to face Zayn, crawling up to him on his knees. He's still totally hard, hard from being fucked by Louis' fingers, and Zayn is only beginning to realise how much Liam wants this, how much he _loves_ this. Zayn lets Liam pull his boxers off, and his own cock is already pretty hard, but that doesn't stop Liam from crouching forward and – oh shit, oh shit – going down on Zayn.

Zayn gets a fistful of sheets in each hand, watches as Liam – leaning low, looking up at Zayn through dark lashes – goes down on Zayn's cock, all the way, until his nose is brushing against skin. The bob of his head, the bulge of Zayn's cock in Liam's cheek is beyond filthy, and Zayn has a hard time not getting off right then. The slight shear of teeth against the underside of Zayn's cock is fucking electric, exploding through him, that feeling coming over him like a smoker's high, light-headed and wrong and perfect. There's that slight _pop_ when Liam pulls off Zayn's dick, grinning up at him with his lips spit-slick and Zayn's cock wet from his mouth, and Zayn forgets the rhythm of breathing, forgets how to live.

"Zayn," Louis says, smirking at what must be a very obvious look on Zayn's face, and throws him the bottle of lube. "Need some slippery stuff, dude."

Liam takes the bottle from Zayn and looks at it very deliberately, like making his mind up about something. With the heavy beat of anticipation making a drumline in his chest (Zayn can almost hear it, tinny and hidden behind the slats of his chest,) Liam drizzles some of the (cold, cold) lube on Zayn's dick, running one hand down it to make him slick. The wicked grin Liam had just a minute ago when he was blowing Zayn (a look, Zayn knows, Liam inherited from Louis during their kiss) is gone now, replaced by one that's determined, maybe even a little scared. Zayn runs a hand down Liam's chest, resting just east from his sternum, keeping the hot brand of his fingers over the rapid heartbeat in Liam's chest, holding it there until he feels it slow down to something closer to home.

"You ready?" Zayn asks on a breath, suddenly realising his own panic about this.

Liam nods, his eyes softening when he looks at Zayn. "Yeah."

The rain is still coming down hard as ever when Liam straddles Zayn's hips. He lifts himself up, Zayn's cock in his fist, and Zayn can feel Louis' hands there too, positioning them gently, until Liam is lowering himself down. Liam throws his head back as he fucks all the way down on Zayn, his mouth round and letting out a tight huff of breath. His whole body is flexed, stretched back, from chest to abs to thighs, as he sinks down on Zayn's cock. 

Louis was right, Liam is fucking _tight_. The feel of him around Zayn is incredible, and the look of him, fuck, the look as Liam blushes right to the top of his chest, his strong body made helpless as he starts to build a rhythm, rocking his hips down onto Zayn's dick. Zayn can't help but run his hands up Liam's thighs, up to his flat stomach, feeling the heat in his body as he catches on to Liam's rhythm like they're messing about writing a song, his needle finding the groove in the record, fucking up into Liam as Liam rocks into him. Zayn must hit something, something _good_ , because Liam gasps then and curls forward, leaning down until he's holding Zayn in shadow, his desperate lips wanting an outlet, finding Zayn's mouth and kissing him hungrily. 

Keeping the rhythm going is amazing, holding on to Liam's hips, helping him, pushing him and pulling him in time to the metronome shared in their sweat-slick chests. Liam is so hot to the touch, around Zayn's cock, a fever warmth they've built together in the frigidly cold, rainwater-drenched night. His kisses are so full, his bottom lip fattened and sweet, his attention driven like a stake into Zayn, all of it singing of need.

"Louis," Liam grunts. "I – fuck, fuck." Liam sounds so overwhelmed, on the edge of something desperate. He sounds like he can't take much more, even as he asks for it. It's like the want you get for another shot even though you're completely wasted, needing to keep this feeling going even though you're already _ruined_. "Louis, please, _please_."

"You want –"

" _Yes_ ," Liam hisses, the air a warm shock against Zayn's mouth. "Please, please, _please_."

"Are you sure?" Louis asks, and it's only then that Zayn realises what Liam's asking for. The two of them. Both of them.

"Liam?" Zayn asks, looking up at the boy currently curled towards him, fucking himself on Zayn's cock, losing himself to things he's wanted in broken ways. "Can you – handle that?"

Liam nods sharply, his eyes blissed out, pupils dilated hugely black, his breathing coming in waves, his thighs trembling slightly as he holds himself down on Zayn. "Need you two. Need it. _Need it_."

"Okay," Louis says, getting himself ready, his hands trembling as he does. Zayn would almost find it funny, Louis getting all nervous like this, but he can't help but understand how that feels. Liam is such a known quantity, or at least he was, and Zayn wants desperately to give the boy what he wants but it's just so overwhelming, the almost animal need Liam has to be fucked, how shaky he is, how he seems like he's on the edge of some huge breakdown if it wasn't for the hard, warm bodies pressed against his, if it wasn't for Zayn and Louis keeping him safe.

Zayn leans up to kiss Liam, to keep kissing him as Louis slicks himself up with lube, to keep Liam centered on the here and now. He keeps Liam anchored to this place, where they're both flush together, Liam getting fucked, Zayn fucking him, their lips never breaking apart. Zayn can see Liam's arms as they cling to him, his tattoos, the dark arrows of the band, the looping script of everything he wanted. Just over Liam's shoulder is Louis, the sarcastic funny boy in him mingling with the uncertain, the needy hidden side Louis doesn't dare admit exists. Louis with his own dark tattoos, the ones on his body Zayn remembers planning with him, remembers drawing for him, feeling them when they were raw and red and new. The full weight of it kind of hits him then, what they're doing, and instead of a hungry kiss he just pushes a gentle pressure to Liam's lips, a sweet almost. 

"Look at you guys," Zayn says.

"What?" Liam asks shakily. Louis looks up too, startled almost.

"I love you so much," Zayn says, so easily, so sure. "I love you both so fucking much."

And in the middle of this thunderstorm, Liam smiles. "Me too."

"Zayn," Louis says, exasperation, helpless. "God, yeah."

"Fuck me," Liam says quietly, firmly. Without shame, a single perfect second where he's as calm as anything, pressed between their bodies, asking for what he wants. "Please, both of you."

Zayn can feel as Louis gets in close to Liam. Zayn can see as he wraps one arm around Liam's stomach, the other pressing his cock next to Zayn's against Liam's ass. With a breath, a steadying breath shared between all of them, Louis pushes in, so hot and fucking tight next to Zayn, the both of them fucking Liam at once.

" _Fuck_ ," Liam whispers, his body rocking forward, caught by Louis' arm, by Zayn's hands. He winces, hard, and his mouth opens in an _aah_ , his breathing tight as he gets used to the feeling, the fullness of getting fucked in pairs. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"Does it hurt?" Zayn asks.

"Yeah," Liam breathes, barely manages to get out. "But – don't – don't stop. Don't ever stop."

They find their rhythm together, the three of them setting the clocks of their hearts to the same second, finding it inside each other with hands and mouths. Liam is on the edge of a whimper the whole time, as Louis and Zayn push into him, his breath coming in shreds and broken pieces. Louis keeps his mouth pressed against the back of Liam's neck, Zayn with his against Liam's shoulder. Liam is frozen between them, hung up in their arms like he doesn't have the strength to hold himself. He groans, but always asks for more, his parted lips opening in a gasp as they fuck him, fuck him together, the both of them inside him at once.

"More," Liam says, shuddering. "Faster. Please."

Zayn finds Louis' hand, clenches it tight, and the two of them rock their hips into Liam faster, their cocks pressed together. With his other hand Zayn touches Liam, starts to jerk him off. Liam almost loses it then, Zayn can tell just from the way his mouth makes those noises, strangled noises, blissful noises. Zayn jerks him off to the same speed as they fuck him, his hand running from base to head and down again. 

"I'm so close," Liam says weakly, totally out of it, fucked up and losing it. "Keep going, keep –"

Together, Louis and Zayn go faster, pushing into him until Liam is shaking all over, from his thighs to his shoulders, his head bowed forward and sweat dripping from his nose and onto Zayn chest. They can't keep it up for long, Zayn so close, Louis so close, and Liam begging for the release. They build up towards destruction, like a star going supernova in their chests, a whole galaxy collapsing inside them.

"Zayn," Liam says on a hitched breath. "Louis – Lou –" And on that word he comes, Liam comes so hard, shooting up over Zayn's chest, on his throat, over Zayn's mouth and cheeks. It's pearly and thick on his knuckles as he jerks Liam off, keeping his grip tight as Liam shudders out every last breath. Liam shakes as he comes, tightening around their cocks, driving them crazy, and Zayn can taste him, chlorine and salt, Liam's come thick on his lips.

Louis comes right away, Zayn can feel him come inside Liam, wet and sticky and pressed up next to Zayn. Liam gasps then too, his eyes squeezed tight, that burning afterglow and sensitivity making him weak. Louis grunts and hugs his arm around Liam tighter, clenching Zayn's other hand tight as he lets go.

"Zayn," Liam whispers, dark and blown away, barely sounding like himself. "Come in me. Fuck me. Come inside me."

"Fuck," Zayn says. "I'm so close."

"Do it, babe," Louis says, his voice raw like he's smoked a pack.

"Zayn," Liam says again, and that's it, that's all it takes. Zayn comes in Liam, hot and wet, bucking his hips upwards and fucking into him one last time. He scrunches his eyes closed, his muscles spasming, fists gathering tight around whatever he's gripping. Louis holds his wrist, Liam groans, and Zayn feels himself explode, starlight and thunder and awe, genuine awe at how much fucking love he's got right now.

"Fuck," Zayn says, spent, hollowed out, falling slack against the pillows. His face is wet with Liam's come, his body slick with his sweat and theirs. He's so hot, he's so tired, and when he opens his eyes and sees Liam and Louis naked and exhausted and looking down at him, he gets so fucking happy all at once.

Sated and used up, Liam pulls off of them and flops down next to Zayn, curling against him tight, knees drawn up and his forehead pressed against Zayn's shoulder. "Hey," Liam says, small and – yeah, filled up. No fear in his throat, no stress in his body, just drawn out and fucked and safe all over again.

"Hey," Louis says looking down at them, a winning smirk that's just a few shades too sincere.

"I'm gonna need a shower," Liam mumbles. "I – I can still feel you inside me."

"Jesus," Louis breathes. 

"I can taste you," Zayn says, tip of his tongue licking experimentally at Liam's come on his upper lip.

"Oh, shit, did I –" and Liam blushes fast, young, happy. He tilts Zayn's chin with a finger, drawing him down for a kiss, lying side by side on the bed. He kisses the come from Zayn's mouth, tasting himself and Zayn's sweat, the sex left on his skin. When they pull apart Liam licks his lips. "Sorry."

"Nah," Zayn says, patting Liam's bare thigh. "That was." He pauses, wondering where his shame went, wondering where his anxiety has been hidden. "That was fucking hot, actually."

Louis laughs, towering over them even though he's just on his knees. He leans down over Zayn, coming in close to kiss that same spot, to get a taste of Liam, sliding lower to nip at the pulse point on Zayn's throat made wet with Liam's come. Like fucking blood brothers or something, the taste of it in all of their mouths as they kiss, slow and lazy, trading mouth for mouth until it's all a jumble, a mess, three boys trying to kiss at once all noses and teeth.

"Who's showering first?" Zayn asks.

"No, no, not yet," Liam says, resting his hand on Zayn's stomach, thumb rubbing against the slight fuzz of hair around his navel. "Let's just – sit for a while." 

Louis gives Zayn a ghost of a wink before falling on his other side, the queen-sized bed all taken up with their splayed limbs and naked bodies. The air chills them down, calms them, dries their sweat until they're too cold, huddling against Zayn for warmth. Zayn tries to wrap his head around what just happened but there's some kind of block, something in him that refuses to regret it. It might be the feel of Liam's hands on his stomach or Louis' heat pressed skin to skin from shoulder down to thigh, like their proximity is enough to keep those particular demons at bay. He can only think of the way it felt to fuck Liam, pressed up close with Louis, and the way Liam's lips felt, all pulpy and soft. He remembers what it feels to be wanted, needed, tied up with Liam in the strings and ribbons of sweat and come and blood. He remembers how it was to kiss Louis, a feeling as natural as breathing. And he remembers the shape of the night, the hushed anticipation, losing his way, and being found again.

"Don't overthink it," Louis murmurs against Zayn's ear, always (always) knowing them better than they know themselves.

"Shut up," Zayn says automatically.

" _Hey_ ," Louis says, mock offended.

"You're both – you're both going to keep kissing me, aren't you?" Liam asks then, huge boy whittled down so small, on the far edge of the bed next to the rain-trembling window. "Even after tonight?"

Zayn looks at Louis, Louis looks at Zayn. "Was that in the plan?" Zayn asks.

"Dunno," Louis says.

Liam groans, but he's laughing just as quickly, Zayn grabbing at his bare sides, playfighting, shadowboxing against Liam's shoulders. Louis joins in, rolling over Zayn, clambering over Liam until Liam is stuck between them again, suspended in laughter between their jabbing fingers, shouting for mercy, trying to get them to stop. A familiar pattern, one that never seems to break between them.

"You want it so bad," Louis says, biting down on the round of Liam's shoulder. "You're so fucking dirty, man. Who would have guessed?"

"You want us so much, don't you?" Zayn says, his voice teasing like Louis' even though he wants an answer, he wants to hear it again, and again. 

" _Augh_ , yes, yeah," Liam says, finally escaping and crawling away from them. "For some reason – for some reason I really rather do." He catches his breath, standing naked at the foot of the bed with their clothes a soaked tangle of seaweed on the hotel room floor. "I'm going to have a shower, but – save my place?" he asks, nodding shyly at the gap in the middle of the bed, his home country bordered between their bodies.

"All right," Zayn says, and he just reaches one hand into the middle of the space, Louis doing the same, lacing their fingers across the gap where Liam wants to belong.

Liam smiles, a genuine smile, the kind that crinkles at his eyes. "Thanks." He walks to the bathroom but stops halfway across the room. He looks over his shoulder, and his face is full of everything, all wide eyes and soft skin and the slight shadow of fuzz on his upper lip and jaw. "Seriously. Thank you."

"You're very welcome, babe," Louis says, an arrow notched in his bow, catching Liam in the chest and making him grin.

"Don't even say it," Zayn whispers as they watch Liam – pert fucking ass, long pale thighs, scratches and small bruises on his ribs from their fight – walk into the bathroom, running the shower but leaving the door wide open.

"Say what?" Louis asks.

"I told you so," Zayn says.

"Why would I ever say that?" Louis asks, a vision of innocence.

Zayn twists, rolls towards Louis so he can punch him while still holding his hand. Louis laughs, winces, gives a pouty _ow_ when Zayn punches him again. The rain continues to fall, mixed with the rush of Liam's shower, and Louis shuffles closer to Zayn so he can kiss him, kiss him soft and kiss him long. It starts as a thank you, the only way Zayn remembers how to say anything at all right now, but it changes, gets deeper as Louis gets closer, pressing his thigh up between Zayn's. It's the kiss of boys who ought to have been kissing long ago, Zayn thinks, or the kiss of boys who've built a house of cards that is somehow still standing. It's a kiss like disbelief, of wanting the same thing and getting it, kissing like they're trying to taste the change on each others' lips; finding their love for Liam in each other, reflected, amplified together.

"All right," Zayn whispers against Louis' mouth. "Fine, do it."

" _I told you so_ ," Louis says softly.

"Yeah," Zayn says, a happy if tired tilt at the corner of his mouth. "You fucking did."

And they keep kissing, sleepy and slow, hands pawing at each others' chests, brushing against the stubbly edge of a jaw, until Liam comes shuffling back into the bedroom glowing hot and damp from the shower, and when they pull him back to bed they kiss him too.

*

"So that's where you are," Liam says, walking out onto the balcony in just his briefs – dried overnight, hanging over the shower curtain road – with his arms crossed over his chest against the morning chill. "It's only six. I felt you get out of bed and I got –"

"Worried?" Zayn asks, holding his joint obliquely, between forefinger and thumb with the ember pointing up into the curved shell of his hand.

Liam shakes his head, backpedaling quickly. "No, no. I just – missed you. Your weight, next to me." He walks up next to Zayn, leaning his tattooed forearms against the railing and looking out at the stretch of downtown Montreal spreading out before them, giving a quick morning sniffle. 

"It's okay," Zayn says. "I know what I'm like sometimes."

"Naw," Liam says, which is nice of him. "Last night was – I mean, I'd understand. If. You know." Liam looks at Zayn with a kid of wounded curiosity, a hesitancy to say something, like he's looking for love without asking for it. It's the way a girlfriend after forgetting an anniversary, like missing the midnight deadline of wishing Liam a happy birthday. "I get it," Liam says, his voice drawn in again.

Right hand holding the joint, Zayn uses his left hand to hold Liam's chin, thumb and index, tilting his head just so. Zayn leans in and kisses him, remembering too late that he probably tastes of mint toothpaste and sticky weed. Liam gives a little _oomph_ of pleasure before he lets go of his tension and kisses Zayn back. Zayn slides his thumb from Liam's chin to his jaw, sliding the flat of his hand over Liam's cheek, holding him in place. Liam opens his mouth, and he still tastes of bitter sleep and dried sweat, and it's something Zayn wants to remember, memorizing the way Liam tastes at different hours of the day; morning, afternoon, night. It's the kind of kiss that drives Zayn crazy, the slowness, the way Liam seems to linger in it, giving his whole body to Zayn. He can feel it all over, the prickly warmth that spreads from the glowing sun in his chest to the outer planets of his arms and legs. He tries to play it off like it's nothing, that kissing Liam is as easy as a shot of liquor, but Zayn has a very hard time believing that this feeling will ever waste away.

"I don't think I'll ever stop liking the way you do that," Liam says, studying Zayn's coolness, the way he takes a clean hit off his joint and blows out the thin stream of smoke. Zayn does his best not to look at Liam because otherwise he'll break up, he'll giggle and grin and lose himself again in the startling softness of Liam's mouth. Three years with this band, under the hardening light of the media like a kiln baking him rock-hard, has taught Zayn how to put up walls and act chill, to work each day on its own without ever letting anything get the better of him. One look from Liam and the whole goddamn thing collapses.

"Yeah, well, whatever," Zayn says, breaking the kiss quietly and smoothing himself out, and even through his forced cool he still comes back from kissing Liam all breathless and hot as running a marathon. "I made a promise, didn't I?

Liam grins so hard. "You remembered."

Zayn shrugs one shouldered, but Liam's smile hits him right in the ribs, a cramp, a seized muscle and he can't help it, he laughs, half-stoned and giggling relentlessly as Liam threads a hand around his waist and knocks their hips together with a bump.

Last night's rains have cleaned Montreal, washed out the heavy heat and brought in a freshness, the crisp green of mown grass and oxidized air like metal and freshly turned dirt. The day, only an hour old, is clear and cornflower blue, barely a scribble of cloud left in the corners of the sky. Liam takes a deep lungful of it, breathing it out like he's feeling as clean and clear as it tastes. Zayn mirrors him, that unconscious way they've all somehow picked up on each others' habits, the way they somehow locked themselves together into a mutual melody, the major chord of their three notes in harmony. It makes him smile, finding the little bits of Liam he's inherited through touch, through shared heat.

"Hey, man, since you're the early bird," Zayn says, gesturing with his joint. "Have a worm."

"Gimme some of that," Liam says, taking the joint carefully from Zayn's fingers (they are seventeen stories in the air, after all) and he blows on the tip, just like Zayn taught him, before tucking it in the corner of his mouth and taking a long hit. Watching Liam toke up – even though it's his fourth, fifth time doing it – still makes Zayn so happy, watching the seeds he planted years ago turn Liam into a boy just a bit more similar. Zayn knows that even though they all need each other in different ways, those ways have become more and more tangled over time, evolving as they learn each other like maps and complicated equations. Zayn loves seeing Liam like this, and Louis too when he gets all sweet and shy, how it's not nearly so obvious who belongs to what anymore, now that they keep finding more of each other in themselves as the days go by.

Liam lets the smoke drift from out of his mouth, a curling cloud wreathing him in laurels of yellow-grey smoke. "You okay?" Liam asks, handing the joint back.

Zayn nods slowly, takes another hit. "How about you? Can you still feel us?"

Liam blushes. Zayn loves knowing he can do that any time now, can get Liam to look that shy and happy. That's his job now, a new life as the boy who can make Liam do _that_. "Yeah, I can. In a – a good way. Really good way."

"Again tonight?" Zayn asks, and he laughs at Liam's expression and tucks him in close.

The joint ricochets between them like a tennis ball, from hand to hand. Zayn's south-west facing balcony is still entirely in the shade, and even though it's in the middle of summer Liam gets a quick chill, the kind that creeps up your spine and rings in your shoulders like a bell. Zayn puts his arm around Liam's shoulders, a half-headlock that he uses to drag Liam close. Placing the joint in the hand Zayn has strung around Liam's neck, he holds it up to Liam's lips, watches Liam take a hit off of it, the orange flare of the cherry and the crackle as he smokes it down echoing through Zayn's fingers pressed against Liam's still-raw lips.

"What're we going to do?" Liam asks, a burst of smoke on each syllable, a quietness Zayn isn't sure if he should dread or love. The idea of them somehow continuing this is confusing, an impossible dream. Even with Harry and Niall on their side, Zayn's can't see anything beyond this balcony with its' tiles cool against his feet and wrought-iron railing digging a red line into his stomach as he leans against it. But then again, hidden in that worry is the idea that it can happen again, and again, that Liam wants it to keep happening. 

"I don't know," Zayn says, taking another hit. He rests his head against Liam's shoulder, a couple inches too tall to be comfortable but he stays there all the same, the hot shell of his ear pressed against Liam's muscles like he could hear the rush of blood within him like the sea. "You know I'm shit at thinking about the future."

"I know," Liam says, a little sad and a little not, and he kisses the side of Zayn's head.

"Hey, cool, wake and bake." Louis pads out onto the balcony, and Zayn realises then that they've gotten mixed up, Zayn is wearing Louis' boxers and Louis is wearing his. Shared clothes scattered at the end of a single bed. "Could have woken me up, though."

"You hate it when I wake you up," Liam says. Zayn can feel Liam stoop a little, his posture slouching as Louis sidles up on his other side. He puts a hand around Liam's waist, his free hand gesturing at Zayn, taking the joint from him.

"Yeah, well," Louis says, breathing out a long thin stream of smoke. "Whatever." And Zayn almost laughs because now, despite all of Louis' danger and fun, despite his booming self-reliance and confidence as alpha of this gangly pack of wolves, he's still just a boy who doesn't want to get left behind. He'll never admit it, but there's an all for one, one for all kind of need that Louis has got buried down deep in him, a kid who just doesn't want to wake up alone anymore, not if it can be helped.

"We'll wake you up next time," Zayn says, laughing, but he knows Louis appreciates it because he can feel Louis' fingertips reaching out from where they're curved around Liam's hips, just the simple brush of them against Zayn's side enough to reveal a whole religion.

"Louis?" Liam asks.

"Yeah?" Louis says, all tight in his throat as he tries to hold in a lungful of smoke.

"What're we going to do?" Liam asks. 

"About?" Louis asks, handing the joint back to Zayn.

"Us," Liam says, a single syllable that runs through them, connected by arms and fingertips, like electricity through a wire. Zayn feels it spark up in his chest, like the flicked head of a match, igniting something in him that refuses to ever let anyone break that word, those two letters, that _us_.

Louis considers it for a moment, his thumb running absently along the shadowed cleft of Liam's hip, against the frayed elastic hem of his Calvin Klein briefs. "Like, how are we going to keep doing this?

"Yeah," Liam says. "I – I don't want it to stop, and I don't know how." And even though it might seem like it, Zayn knows that Liam isn't giving up. Hope isn't lost, Zayn realises, because Louis is here, that magic boy who for the last three years has made the impossible real, molding the world to his needs like clay. While Zayn might be a brick house, a solid promise, there's no denying that when something like this needs doing, it's Louis they both seek out like a cure: getting a hookup for some primo weed, convincing handlers that renting a yacht is a great idea, wrangling a key card from a night janitor so they can swim in the hotel pool at three in the morning (after promising not to throw a television in it.) Liam might have the advantage of strength and honesty, and Zayn might be all cigarettes and fight, but Louis has his usual advantage: the whole damn thing is his idea. Throughout it all, he's the one causing things to happen, pushing them, making them important for long enough and intensely enough (and publicly enough) to somehow make them _be_. 

"I don't know," Louis says, pressing his mouth to Liam's shoulder. "I'm not sure, babe." But Zayn knows that he's not admitting defeat, that hidden behind those words is the bright red kiss of a _yet_.

"So, well – why don't we just make a plan?" Zayn asks simply, looking between his boys. "Another plan."

Louis leans forward a little over the railing to look across Liam at Zayn. His grin is perfect, always so close to Zayn's thinking that they often forget whose ideas were whose. "Hey, it worked once."

"Every day we make a new plan," Zayn says, warming up to the idea. "A new way to make it work. A new party to crash. Sneaking around the tunnels under the stadium. Stealing a golf cart. Step by step."

Louis offers a hand that Zayn slaps lazily, linked together in front of Liam, brushing against his bare stomach.

"Skipping out on training," Liam says slowly, finding the rhythm of the language, discovering the crime streak that Louis and Zayn have left in him like ribbons of gold and silver, "finding out how to get on the hotel roof. Renting out a movie theatre. Sneaking into each others' hotel rooms, pretending we're exhausted, do not disturb."

Louis nods, eyes alive with a new game. Zayn knows that Louis usually likes the planning of the thing more than the thing itself, but with their tangle of hands around Liam, holding him, sharing a joint passed back and forth between the three of them like a pendulum ticking from one side to the other and back again, Zayn can see that Louis is getting a lot more out of this than the promise of trouble, his grin like a mouth full of blood.

"What about tonight?" Zayn asks, looking from Liam to Louis.

"Where are we headed next?" Louis asks.

"Flying down to Pennsylvania," Zayn says. 

"We've got three shows there, plus a day off," Liam says, because of course he knows that.

"So, let's try and get some time off," Louis says. "Get some of the local culture. See the sights." He waggles his eyebrows.

"And we can take the bus up to Toronto, with the crew, instead of flying," Liam says. "We'll have all night, almost the whole bus to ourselves."

"Yeah, man, perfect," Louis says, planting a loud kiss against Liam's cheek. "Then what?"

Zayn doesn't speak much as Louis and Liam plan together, he just stands there leaning against the railing and smoking his joint until it burns his lips, his fingertips. Liam and Louis talk over him, around him, about him, and Zayn is just happy to watch. As he lights up his second joint, he can already feel his arms going light, his head filling with phosphorescent lights, nebulas. He hands the joint off to Liam, to Louis, with fingertips that seem to light up when he touches their skin, like a diode that glows when a circuit is complete, his warmth flowing through them in alternating currents, blood pumping between their shared veins. 

Their plans run together, crisscrossing as they get more and more stoned, frayed loops of yarn that they've knitted into some grand plan that they'll have to go over later, fixing up the missed knots. But it doesn't matter because right now they're all caught up in it, standing stoned and almost naked on a hotel balcony, keeping each other standing, tasting the excited plans like champagne on each others' lips. And Louis is the one who makes Liam laugh, and Zayn is the one who brings him back home, and Liam is the boy, that boy, their boy filling in that cold hollow in the middle of their chests. And yeah, Zayn knows that the three of them together are impossible, they're nothing but fucking trouble, just a menace to society, but if you have to fight to live in this world, well, Zayn doesn't think twice about whose side he's on.

End.


End file.
